


not his cloak

by robin_hoods



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Implied Relationships, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 22:26:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2205288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robin_hoods/pseuds/robin_hoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the eve of Sansa's wedding, a brother and sister stroll arm in arm, unable to say what they desire to, but knowing all the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not his cloak

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at the kink meme (for which I've lost the link), "Jon marries Sansa. Robb will never forgive him for being able to do so."

Robb is the one to give her away. To the Godswood, he leads her, her arm locked in his, and as she looks up to him, Sansa realises this is not what he wants.

It's not that he doesn't care for Jon, or doesn't wish him the best. No, it's something else entirely, something she only notices by the steady twitch of his jaw, his eyes not on her, focusing somewhere in the distance. Brother and sister, arm entwined in arm, a tense body next to her own. She suspects he might be more nervous about this than she is, which is a strange prospect. The Young Wolf is known for his courage, after all, but in this moment, he falters.

“Robb?” she asks, and tugs softly at his arm. They haven't reached the Godswood yet, there still is time. “Are you all right?”

His eyes are clear as day, and he nods curtly towards her, intending to get this over with quickly. Sansa is not that eager, however. Jon is but a stranger to her now, after all, a man with her father's face, and eyes far too sad for someone befitting his age. She doesn't think she can bear to look at him for a few moments at the most, because he reminds her of all that she has lost, of the past, of what will never come to pass.

“You don't have to,” she says quietly, her hands drifting up his tunic, pulling his cloak tightly around him. She only has to look at him to see herself. The same Tully blue, the same auburn hair. She sees him and he sees her, and she sees the guilt in his eyes, the regret, the tighening corners of his mouth and the words on his tongue that he does not speak. She sees all those, and more – and this is why she knows.

“I do,” he says, his voice surprisingly gentle. “I have to, Sansa.” Her name sounds strange, coming from his lips, and he seems further away from her than he ever was. “I wish I didn't, but I have no choice.”

He is not the same, and neither is she. “There always is a choice,” she says, her words sharp but not unkind. She thanks the Gods for the small mercies they have granted her, her brother alive and well at her side, her hands that do not tremble as she fastens her own cloak around her, the cold still persistent despite the early signs of spring.

It is not the change of name that bothers her. She will always be Sansa Stark of Winterfell, Sansa who longingly gazed out of windows waiting for her knight to appear, Sansa of the songs, Sansa the Wolf, Sansa the survivor. They always forget the woman, though, the girl and her fears. Just like they always forget Robb, Robb who is their father and yet not, the Young Wolf, the Conqueror, the King in the North. He is all of those and none when she looks at him.

Resolutely, he takes her by the arm again, and they step through the deep snow, to the Godswood. And as Sansa repeats her vows to the Old Gods, and allows Jon to put his dragon embroidered cloak around her, she can't help but look at her brother, instead of her husband.

 

 


End file.
